Meltdown
by AshQueen18198
Summary: TRIGGER WARNINGS INSIDE. Grantaire comforts Eponine. Oneshot.


**A/N: Okay, this is going to be my first published fanfiction. I have learned about formatting for fanfiction by reading fanfiction for months, so I picked up on things that way. I also asked somebody to proofread and to help me find the right words for things, so thank you to that person who shall remain anonymous. **

**Trigger Warning: Suicidal thoughts, hints at attempted rape and alcoholism are included in this story.**

**Obviously, I do not own **_**Les Mis**__**érables,**_** otherwise I'd be sitting around counting all my money rather than writing fanfiction.**

Grantaire paced the room, impatiently waiting for some form of artistic genius to strike him. A blank canvas stood in front of the window, beckoning him to create something. Groaning, he plopped down on the old, battered couch in frustration. He couldn't think of anything to immortalize in canvas at the moment. He was about to reach for a half-empty beer bottle when the doorbell rang.

Grantaire trudged to the door and twisting the doorknob, pulled the door open.

Éponine, his best friend, stood before him with a worn-out man's coat wrapped around her shoulders. Her lips were purple, her face pale and snowflakes were caught in her damp and tangled hair. She let out a breath of silver air.

"God Éponine, you look like shit!" Grantaire exclaimed, escorting her inside.

"Nice to see you, too," she retorted sarcastically.

"Do you need a place to stay?" Grantaire asked, concern in his voice. Her father was a con, and often sent his daughters to do the dirty work. It wouldn't be the first time that he had let her spend the night in his tiny apartment.

"Probably," Éponine answered, sprawling out on the couch.

The cynic ran into his bedroom, and, after pulling out some sweatpants and a paint-stained T-shirt, tossed them on the couch next to her. "Change," he said.

Grantaire left the room so Éponine could quickly change. After he was certain that she was done, he walked back in and sat next to her on the couch. "What happened this time?" he asked.

"_He_," she spat with hate towards her father, "wanted me to beg in the streets and told me not to come back until I had at least fifty dollars. Some dick tried to attack me, though."

"I've told you that you can live here…"

"And what about Azelma? She can't do shit if she's alone. She'd _die_." Éponine's voice began to waver.

"She can live here, too. We can figure something out…"

"I can't. I can't explain why, but I just can't…" Éponine's voice became very quiet and her eyes began to water. Grantaire quickly pulled her into a tight embrace and rocked slowly back and forth with her. He noticed that his shirt began to feel moist around her face and she gave a small whimper. This was the second time that she'd had a breakdown with him in the year-and-a-half that he had known her. He rubbed Éponine's back with one hand and held her close with the other.

"Y'know, I bet if I was dead, nobody would give a damn," Éponine said quietly into his chest.

Grantaire realized in horror what she was saying. He reached for her face and forced her to look at him. "Don't you _ever_, _ever_, say that ever again. Do you understand me?" he said through gritted teeth. She nodded, her face wet and red. He held her close again. "I know that you hate yourself, but we all love you. Azelma loves you, Gavroche loves you and I love you. You are not worthless, no matter if the hell-born demon tells you otherwise," he whispered into her ear.

They stayed that way for over an hour, Grantaire holding her close to him, rubbing her back and head. Eventually, her breathing slowed and she was silent, apart from her quiet breathing. Looking at her, Grantaire realized that she was asleep. He cautiously arranged her on the couch. Grabbing the nearest blanket and pillow, he lifted her head gently and slid the pillow under it before delicately placing her on the pillow and throwing a blanket over her sleeping form. He brushed the hair out of her face and gently kissed her on the forehead.

Grantaire grabbed another bottle of beer from his dented refrigerator. Popping off the cap and putting the cool bottle to his rough lips, he gulped down the bottle in several seconds. He once again stared at the empty canvas, but this time, he felt something. He picked up his paintbrushes, and, dipping them in paint, slid them across the canvas. He didn't even know what he was painting; he just allowed his hands to guide the paintbrush in short, harsh strokes.

Several hours later, when he had finally finished, he looked over the painting. A hand was chained to a vile, reptilian, creature's claw, unable to escape. The background behind the hand was varying shades of light blue, and the background behind the claw was a malicious-looking-mixture of red-brown, grey and dull orange. He penned his name in the bottom-right hand corner of the canvas, then left to sleep.

**A/N: I hope that you liked this. Please review to tell me how I did! Thanks! -AshQueen**


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